Unredeemable
by SteveGarbage
Summary: Levyn was turning out to be as much of a failure as Jowan. Freedom was turning out to be even worse than the Circle. Every choice he made was wrong. Every attempt to do good with his life was futile. Maybe the Chant of Light was right. He was a blood mage and everywhere he went, despair, destruction and death followed.


The roughly wrapped rope scraped through his already bloody palms.

"Walk carefully, Jowan," Jowan said to himself, the falsetto voice thick with sarcastic mocking as he ran the cord out, shaking his head from side to side and sticking his tongue out.

The barn was empty. There was no one here to hear him. Just as well. Nobody ever listened to what he had to say anyway. Everybody just talked over him and expected him to listen and abide by what they said. They did it while he lived in the Circle. They did it while he lived on the lam. They even did it when he stopped being Jowan and became Levyn.

He looked down at the several feet of rope he had wound out and began to tie the end.

"I'll be watching you," he said again in the same shrill tone. "Are you watching me now, Solona? Watching me with your perfect eyes? Perfect, perfect Solona. Darling of the Circle."

He made a loop and began wrapping the end around in a couple tight circles. There weren't any books in the Circle about how to do this. But Jowan was self-taught anyway. The teachers never had any patience for him.

"Ohhh Jowan," he said again. "Why can't you be more like Solona? Solona never shows up late. Solona never forgets her spells. Solona never loses her concentration."

He made a fourth loop around and gave a tug, feeling the tension in the knot. That looked right, right?

"Oh I'm sorry Enchanter. I'm sorry I can't be Solona. I'm sorry that I'm just a screw-up all the time," Jowan said as he tossed the rope over the sturdy crossbeam of the barn. The rope sailed over, dangling limply. He walked over to the vertical support beam and crouched down.

"You just never apply yourself Jowan. Solona didn't get it at first either. No one does. But she worked hard and that's why she's so Maker-damned perfect now." He tied the loose end around the base and knotted it tightly three times to make sure it didn't unravel and wedged his knife deep into the wood to make sure it didn't slip up the beam.

"Oh of course, Enchanter," he continued as he climbed the ladder into the loft. "I'm not useless because I'm stupid, it's just because I'm lazy. Oh, well thank you for pointing that out, too."

Jowan carefully walked toe after toe along the beam, crouching and picking up the rope.

"Well don't worry about any of that any more Jowan. No, you won't cause anyone any more problems."

He slid the noose around his neck.

* * *

"Run. I never want to see you again."

Solona's ice-blue eyes were cold and full of hate. She had once been his friend, his only friend. He had foolishly dragged her into his stupid affairs. She had betrayed him to the First Enchanter. Of course she had betrayed him to the First Enchanter. He was stupid to have trusted her, even if there was no one else who he could have called on.

The rusty cell door swung open with a screeching wail. Solona never took her eyes off of him. She stared at him. No, looked down on him. The same way First Enchanter Irving and all the others looked down on him.

"So that's it?" he said, still standing in the dank of the cell. "Dismissed? 'Get out of my sight Jowan. I can't even bear to have you lurking in my shadow?'"

Her black hair, her chilly blue eyes, the shimmering dark blue robe, the extravagant staff. She crossed her arms over her chest, her thugs behind her, including Enchanter Wynne.

"I can shut the door and lock it again, if you like," Solona said coldly.

"No, I get it. You can't have bumbling Jowan tagging along, messing everything up," he said, stepping to the threshold of the cell. "It must be nice, being so good. Pretty. Talented. Charismatic. Everyone fawning all over you all the time. I suppose I should be grateful that you even spent your precious breath on me. Why was that? Why did you even waste your time on me in the Circle?"

"I thought maybe I could help you," Solona said. Her hard eyes bored into him. "We all make mistakes."

Jowan considered hitting her. But her Grey Warden friend had his hand so tight around the grip of his sword at his hip, Jowan doubted he'd be able to land a punch before he pulled steel. Just as well. What would that accomplish?

"You're right," Jowan said, stepping closer to Solona, who never flinched. "We all make mistakes. Some of us more than others, I guess."

"Get out of my face, Jowan," she said in a threatening growl. Her jaw remained rigid and tight. She didn't blink. She only pierced him with her eyes.

He stepped back and threw up his hands. "Gladly," he said, not breaking his gaze either. "Good luck stopping the Blight. I'm sure it won't be any trouble for you."

Jowan turned and began walking down the corridor of the dungeon, each step a dull ache from the wounds that had not healed after the Arlessa had him tortured. Her guards had beaten, burned and cut him, demanding answers that he didn't have. He could have lied, he supposed to make it stop. But what good would it have done? They just would have come back twice as angry when they found out his lies were lies.

He stepped past the burned and bloodied corpses Solona and the others had left broken in the hallway. The faces of the once-soldiers and servants were frozen in horrific, twisted expressions. Those deaths and undeaths were his fault, he knew. He had messed everything up again. He wanted to fix it. But mighty Solona wouldn't even let him try to regain that small scrap of dignity.

He turned his head over his shoulder as he approached the stairwell to take one last look at Solona.

And as he looked back down the hall, he realized that she was already gone.

* * *

"Stay behind me. I'll protect you!"

The wolves already looked half-dead, feral, clumps of fur sloughing off their bodies. Their mouths were stained with blood and black filth, foamy slather dripping around the yellowed fangs jutting from their mouth. They smelled of rot.

The Blight-sickened wolves prowled, slinking around the flanks of the huddled refugees, their corrupted yellow eyes hungrily stalking down the terrified children screaming and crying as they clutched their mothers' skirts.

There were too many for him to fight alone. His staff glowed blue as he tried to focus, eyes darting back and forth among the pack, trying to recall the patterns in his mind. He pulled the mana across the Veil, shakily, uneven, his concentration rattled by both fear of attack and fear of his own ineptitude. He had never been good at magic to start with and now he stupidly let people put their trust in his skills.

The glyph alighted across the ground, underfoot of the refugees, stable. It might be enough to hold off the wolves just long enough.

The leader growled, spit slithering through its bared teeth as it stared down Jowan.

"I'm not afraid of you!" he shouted, throwing a cone of fire forward, enough to make the wolf skitter backward to keep from being burned. It lifted its head, howling, signalling the attack.

Before the wolves could strike, there was another yell.

"There! In the trees!"

The wolves pounced. Jowan swung his staff, clocking the wolf across the flank as another jumped and grabbed his arm, jagged teeth catching in the orange fabric of his robe and barely missing his arm.

Another wolf charged and took an arrow in the flank, the force of the shot tumbling the blighted beast over into the grass with a yelp. Jowan shook his arm, pulling his other arm across his body and spraying fire down on the wolf. It's dry, spotty, black fur caught fire, the beast letting go and running away screeching as it burned.

The warrior charged past, his sword drawn and his shield out in front as he took up a position defending the refugees. More glyphs formed on the ground, spirit energy arcing across the field at the blighted beasts.

It was only then that he realized it was Solona at his side, blue energy crackling around her hands as she worked the arcane arts with ease and grace.

"Bereskarn!" the man shouted, his sword pointing to the tree line.

The red-haired archer strafed left, her bow fully drawn as she lined up the shot, planting an arrow in the twisted bear's muscled neck. Solona's staff pointed forward, a cage of crushing spirit energy stopping the bear in place, its spiked, bloody hide frozen, gory maw bellowing as the magic closed in around it. The warrior jumped forward, his sword raking in two blows across the beast's face before he plunged the blade into its exposed throat, a flood of stinking black blood cascading onto the ground as it collapsed to the ground.

The glen fell silent, except for the screaming and crying of the refugees. But the battle was done. Jowan stepped into the ground, checking his charges. They didn't look hurt. Terrified, yes, but injured, no.

"It's OK," he said, reaching down and patting the tiny blonde girl on the head. Of all the children, she was always the first to cry and the loudest to cry whenever something went wrong. "We're safe now. It's over."

She quieted a little bit as her mother picked her up, clutching the girl close to her chest, squeezing her daughter tightly.

When Jowan looked back to the others, all he could see was Solona once more, that same icy stare on her face. He was alive, in no small part to her and her companions. But he would rather have been eaten alive by wolves.

And she still had her staff pointed at him.

"You? It's you… again," Jowan said. He lifted his hand. "Please don't do anything to me. I've only been trying to help."

Old Jack stepped up, the elderly farmer was always the first one to get into trouble. He stepped between Jowan and Solona.

"Don't be scaring good Master Levyn," he barked, although he had no place speaking so boldly. Old Jack had a bad back and he had just recovered from severe stiffness after wrenching his spine from tripping on a stone. "He's saved us three times over!"

In truth he had only saved them once, from a pair of genlocks that had wandered away from the rest of the horde. Twice, maybe, if Old Jack was counting those hungry-looking bandits he had scared off with a little fire three nights ago. He hardly deserved any of the credit for fighting off the wolves just now. And that sickly bear certainly would have mauled him and the others to death without Solona. But Old Jack never could keep his mouth shut.

Solona's eyebrow raised at his alias. Levyn. It was his father's name. Everyone was looking for Jowan now. The Chantry. The Templars. The Circle. The Knights of Redcliffe. Teryn Loghain's men. He was bound to cross paths with any or all of them on any given day, if darkspawn didn't get him first. A fake name wasn't the worst idea he had, at least lately.

"The Chantry is looking for you," Solona said. "Levyn."

He placed his staff on his back. He couldn't overpower Solona even if he wanted to. The refugees had seen enough horrors already, without watching him get blown apart by magic.

"I didn't realize you were doing their bidding now too," Jowan said. "I shouldn't be surprised though. Did the Divine herself ask you to find me? Did you tell her you were the one who let me go in the first place?"

"What are you doing out here?" Solona's voice was still threatening.

Jowan threw up his hands. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm helping people. Just like I wanted to help in Redcliffe. Are you going to stop me from helping again? Or do you just have to come swooping in here being the hero and getting all the praise?"

"That's right!" Old Jack chimed in again. "When the darkspawn came the bann ran away and left us out here to die. If it weren't for Master Levyn, the darkspawn would have eaten us!"

A teenage girl stepped up and picked up a chump of dirt and threw it at Solona, missing wide right. "Leave Master Levyn alone! He's protecting us." A chorus of passionate agreement rumbled behind him. Another person threw a stone.

Jowan put his hands up to calm them and stop them. He looked back to Solona.

"You're not the only one allowed to do good in this world," he challenged.

Solona's eyes were so hot with rage at his gloating she could barely maintain the thin, pursed line of her lips. She wanted to rip him away from these refugees and take him back in chains. She had let him out of the dungeon.

She was quickly finding out that fixing mistakes wasn't as easy as she pretended it might be.

She lowered her staff.

"Wait, you're letting him go again?" the silver-armored warrior protested. "We came out here to get him because-"

"Watch yourself, Jowan," Solona hissed, interrupting her companion. "I'll be watching you."

She turned and walked away, motioning for her companions to follow her. The refugees gave a quiet cheer behind him, clapping their hands softly. Old Jack stepped up to his side and watched Solona and the others marching back down the road into the woods.

The farmer crossed his arms. "Who's Jowan?"

Jowan snorted.

"A screw-up."

* * *

The black figures swarmed up the hill.

"Go! You have to run! Get to the barn!"

He couldn't be sure the refugees would make it. He told them they shouldn't tarry. The village, or what remained of it, was burned out. It was clear from a mile away that it was a ghost town. Everyone who once lived there had either fled or been killed. He didn't want to come here. But the refugees out-voted him. Someone might be alive. Or they might have left supplies behind.

They were running short on food and water. Little Ginny needed new shoes. The little girl's small slippers had gotten snagged on a stone and ripped. They had taken turns carrying her because her feet were too cut and bloody for her to walk any more. She was only six years old.

As soon as they had gotten inside the town and started to scavenge around, there had been a howling shriek from the valley and several black figures scurrying through it like roaches.

The barn was the only building in the town that hadn't partially collapsed. If the refugees could get into the loft and kick down the ladder, they might be safe from the darkspawn. There were at least a half dozen of them. There was nowhere else to run. If he didn't fight, the refugees would be killed.

They ran all ran toward the barn on the other side of the village, old women hobbling on sore and creaky hips, small children screaming in terror as their legs moved as fast as they could, their mothers dragging them along nearly as fast as they could go.

The refugees climbed the ladder into the loft, the howling of darkspawn growing closer. Others were still streaming toward the barn. The woman carrying Little Ginny tripped and fell and before she could get up, the darkspawn were on top her, the sicken black steel stabbing into the woman's spine. Her bloody scream was cut short as the blade severed her spine.

Little Ginny crawled, scurrying away as quickly as she could on all fours. There were more darkspawn hot on her tail. The darkspawn sword came whistling through the air toward the little girl.

The hurlock toppled as Jowan slammed into its chest with his shoulder. They tumbled toward the ground, he could feel his robe cutting on the darkspawn's jagged armor as they collapsed to the ground. Jowan pressed his hands down toward the darkspawn's chest, a wave of fire melting through the iron armor and stinking, corrupted flesh beneath as it shrieked in pain.

He turned his body just as a steel mace slammed into his right shoulder, a burst of pain as it smashed into his muscle. Jowan rolled away, making sure to hold onto his staff as he scrambled back toward his feet.

A genlock was closing in on Little Ginny and he pointed his staff, a white arcane bolt firing off and striking the darkspawn in the back. The second hurlock with the mace swung at him again, Jowan stepping out of the way just as missed the side of his head. An arrow whizzed past his flank.

He could feel his mind racing as he pulled the mana across from the Fade, a sudden rush of wild energy he grabbed at frantically as he tried to form it into a spell. He could hear the Enchanters screaming at him to focus.

The blob of Fade energy spiraling at the edge of his staff formed into a wild, roiling fireball. He looked down the field and spotted the archer and whipped his staff around, throwing the magic in that general direction. The fireball detonated with a roar, fire and force blasting around him and leveling what was left of the nearest home.

He felt a bite in his right arm as a sword cut the sleeve of his robe and bit into his arm. He twirled, spinning his staff wildly at a third hurlock. The genlock archer crossed the periphery of his vision, the squat monster flailing around engulfed in fire. He took another blom from behind from the mace, a shock of pain shooting up his neck as the hammer made contact against his back.

He stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding another slash from the sword, quickly stepping out of the way of another swing of the mace.

There were too many. He wasn't trained for this. Why did he think he could protect these refugees in a fight? He couldn't even protect him. He stumbled back toward the barn, the darkspawn chasing him, their sharp fangs bared and dripping with blood. He blocked the mace but took another deep cut to the hip from the sword, shouting in pain as he threw a weak spurt of spirit energy at the hurlock to buy himself some space.

The blood ran down his leg and he limped backward, trying to stay on his feet although his teeth were gritted in pain. Another hurlock was approaching, more heavily armored and carrying a large, two-handed axe. Another genlock was aiming a bow in his direction, ignoring the smoldering heap of flesh that was once the other archer.

His foot nearly slipped as he stepped in the blood of the woman who had been killed trying to run with Little Ginny. The darkspawn closed around him.

Jowan's hands tightened around his staff, his eyes darting back and forth between the enemies circling him. He was grossly outmatched. The refugees were hiding in the barn, but if he fell, it wouldn't be long before the darkspawn climbed up or set fire to the building with the people trapped in the loft.

Backed into a corner. No way out. Nothing to lose. He had been here once before.

"I guess I have no choice," he said to himself, to steel his resolve and prepare himself for the horror he was about to unleash.

He slammed the edge of his staff down into the ground, into the puddle of blood pooling around his feet. He dug deep inside himself, unlocking the power he had tried to hide away. The blood bubbled around his feet, droplets lifting into the air, the pain in his wounds intensifying as he ripped his own blood out of his body.

Jowan screamed, a mix of anguish and horror as pulled the blood forward. The woman's body writhed as her life force spilled out of the gaping wound in her back, all of the blood pulling before him.

The darkspawn froze. Just long enough.

"No," he huffed. "No! I won't let you hurt them!"

He lifted his hand, the wave of blood bursting forth like a swarm of insects. The magic ripped through the darkspawn, shot after shot of blood piercing their armor and flesh, the screaming of darkspawn drowned out by the howling fury of the blood magic.

Jowan could barely even see through the red haze, his hands pointed in the direction of each of the darkspawn, the pellets of blood swirling around in a tempest, tearing each monster apart.

And when they all fell and he dropped his arms, the blood fell to the ground like rain and he collapsed to a knee, exhausted.

He did it. He saved them.

Jowan lifted himself back to his feet, swaying on his staff from wounds and exertion and hobbled toward the barn.

Before he could get too close though, Old Jack's voice bellowed down from the loft.

"Blood mage!" he shouted. "Stay away. Just get away from us!"

* * *

The refugees were divided on whether to send him away. They took a vote.

Jowan sat in the bloody grass, exhausted, trying to pull a little mana across whenever he could catch his breath to try to patch his wounds. The bloody slashes burned from the filthy darkspawn blades. If they weren't already poisoned, he was likely to get an infection and die. Still, he hoped what limited healing magic he knew would save him.

Not that he deserved to be saved, according to anyone he ever met.

They vote came out twelve to five. They would continue without him.

The refugees slowly climbed down from the loft, their eyes focused on Jowan. He sat with his back to them and didn't turn around although he could hear them shuffling along. He just pretended they were dead. They would have been dead if he wasn't there. So why had he bothered helping them? He had earned several nasty wounds. And he would have to find new clothes now. His were torn, cold and sticky with blood. Now he really looked the part of the psychotic apostate everyone painted him as, disheveled and soaked in gore.

"We're leaving," Old Jack shouted from across the yard. "Don't try to follow us!"

"I won't," Jowan said loud enough so he could hear.

"May the Maker have mercy on your soul!" the farmer shouted back.

Jowan thought of several sarcastic, blasphemous and downright cruel retorts but didn't say any of them. He just raised a hand above his head, waving goodbye. They went.

They'd all be dead soon. How well would the Chant of Light protect them from genlocks and hurlocks? Blind faith was apparently more important than their helpless lives.

Jowan sat in the grass on the hill, overlooking the burned out plains in the distance and watching black stormclouds roll in from the west. As the sun began to dip below the thick, black clouds, the sky hummed with a sickly indigo light. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the black clouds blinked with lightning.

He could remember the crackling of Solona's lightning as it zipped past his flank and washed over the guardians in the basement of the tower. She led the way through the narrow, dusty hallways, engaging the guardians one by one as he and Lily hung back. Solona easily tore through the challenges, bringing them to the phylactery room.

She stood by and watched as he dropped his phylactery on the ground, the glass shattering. They ran out of the basement, right into First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Greagoir. Solona had told the First Enchanter everything. He was playing politics, trying to pin everything on Lily. By why did it even matter? Irving was going to make him Tranquil anyway, so why bother tearing down Lily too?

Lily. She was sentenced to Aeonar. If she wasn't dead too, she probably wished she was.

Lily. Redcliffe. The refugees. The body count grew and grew. Levyn was turning out to be as much of a failure as Jowan. Freedom was turning out to be even worse than the Circle. Every choice he made was wrong. Every attempt to do good with his life was futile.

Maybe the Chant of Light was right. He was a blood mage and everywhere he went, despair, destruction and death followed.

* * *

The rope chafed his neck.

Jowan looked down as the dirt on the ground a dozen feet below him. He could still see the vibrant pieces of yellow straw on the ground despite the fading dusk light. The drop wouldn't be so far. Less a second down, a jerk and quick stop.

He didn't want to die. But every instinct he had ever had was wrong. So he had to do this. For the world. The world would be better off without him. The entire last year had proved that time and time again.

Jowan tucked the folded paper in his pocket. Hopefully whoever found him would read his blocky handwriting and know who SOLONA was. She was so loved and famous, he was sure everyone in Ferelden knew who she was now. She was going to single-handedly stop the Blight after all. He hoped someone would find her and give her the short note. Maybe she'd read it and feel bad about what she had done. Probably not.

He closed his eyes and jumped.

The wind rushed across his face and the rope tightened at his neck, the rough fibers cutting into his neck. But the quick jerk never came. There was a loud snap. The rope loosened around his throat and he just kept falling until he hit the ground of barn, the his left foot landing first, the impact crunching his ankle as the rest of his body slammed into the dirt.

Jowan screamed and grabbed his ankle, his foot bent in at an angle it wasn't ever supposed to bend. Broken. The rope was still scratching against his throat as he rocked back and forth, holding his ankle and stringing together curse after curse.

Jowan laid back, banging his head against the ground. He looked up, eyeing the broken end of the rope dangling over the beam of the loft, taunting him.

He didn't know how this was Solona's fault, yet, but he wasn't going anywhere until the pain subsided enough for him to concentrate to try to heal it. That would take a while.

He'd have plenty of time to figure out how to blame her.


End file.
